


Who’s That Lady?

by KirkyPet



Series: Sweet Home Chicago [1]
Category: Blues Brothers (Movies), Mad Max Series (Movies), Mad Max: Fury Road
Genre: Alternative Perspective, F/F, ships in the night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-04
Updated: 2018-10-04
Packaged: 2019-07-25 03:37:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16189271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KirkyPet/pseuds/KirkyPet
Summary: Chic lady seeking adventure meets hapless blues musician on a mission from God.





	Who’s That Lady?

**Author's Note:**

> Check out my Blues Mothers fic on Tumblr!  
> kirkypet.tumblr.com  
> #blues mothers

_“Never was the kind to do as I was told - Gonna ride like the wind before I get old”_

Angharad turned her eyes back to the open road before her. This was a driver’s country, that’s for certain. You can drive at seventy while tuning the radio. You couldn’t do that back in Bodelwyddan, not unless you had a deathwish.

_“I've got to ride - Ride like the wind - To be free again - And I've got such a long way to go (such a long way to go) - To make it to the border of Mexico”_

She tried to sing along, but she wasn’t feeling it. The sentiment was right, but it had a dusty, leatherclad vibe that just wasn’t appropriate. Besides, she was going completely the wrong way for Mexico.

It might do for another time, but not this evening. Try again. Hmm, that’s more like it, she thought, as the strains of Deco Lady crooned across the airwaves. More the look she was going for.

_“Decked out in satin like a dream movie queen - ”_

Angharad smiled self-consciously at her gold lamé dress glinting in the setting sun. She let the song play out. Then she noticed. Shit. She blinked in dismay at the fuel dial. Only quarter full. That’ll never do.

*

It was dark before Angharad pulled up at a gas station, and she spotted the attendant, a busy-looking woman with a long dark braid, dressed in a black blazer and a hat. Also, goggles? An unusual uniform, but who was she to judge?

“Excuse me, miss!” she called out.

The woman turned her head, holding her jacket tight, and mimed ‘who, me?’ And they weren’t goggles. She was wearing sunglasses. At night. Oh dear, they were probably for medical reasons. Angharad hoped she hadn’t been staring. She rallied.

“Yes, you. Could you fill it up with premium, and check under the hood?”

The woman looked a little surprised but nodded. “Sure. You want I should wash the dead bugs off the windshield?”

Angharad wasn’t sure whether this was sarcasm or actually part of the service but, either way, the Jag’s screenwash and wipers could handle the bugs. “Oh, no, don’t worry. I'm in kind of a hurry.”

The woman stared at her for a moment and signalled to Angharad to unlock the bonnet catch. She lifted the bonnet and disappeared from view - and, for the lack of anything else to do, Angharad flipped her compact open, took a calming breath and checked her lipgloss.

She was on her way to a casino, in a gorgeous brown Jag and her flashiest outfit. She was going to catch the eye of a rich investment banker over the roulette table and make or lose a few thousands.

An odd choice, perhaps, for someone to whom Monte Carlo was reasonably familiar and Goodwood a regular haunt. A little humdrum, even. But the difference was, tonight wasn’t going as plain old Angharad Williams-Wynn. Tonight she would be Natalia Orlova - whether a double agent or a master forger, she hadn’t decided yet.

A handy thing about a ‘British’ accent is that one can pass as Russian to Americans. Probably for the same reason that Romans in the movies always sound like they’re from the Home Counties.

She probably shouldn’t have picked an Illinois backwater to enact this particular fantasy, and a country gas station hadn’t featured either. But never mind! Often entertainment arises when you least expect it, and from the most unlikely sources.

In this case, the only other living souls are her attendant and a similarly- dressed person sitting on the bonnet of a black and white police car getting sozzled on cheap plonk. The huge siren tied to the roof of the car couldn’t be overlooked either. She wondered how normal that was.

Angharad sighed, trying hard not to be impatient - to simply be amused by the oddness of her situation, to dwell on the fun things she had planned for the evening, but frankly THIS WAS TAKING FUCKING AGES. She glanced at her watch for the hundredth time. Twenty minutes?

Finally the attendant emerged, wiping her hands on her trousers. She looked so content and complemented the car’s inner workings so much that Angharad didn’t have the heart to get snippy.

But when she dithered and looked about her and finally leaned familiarly on the driver’s door, Angharad had had enough.  
She looked up at the attendant sharply and snapped “Gas?”

The woman looked sheepish. “Uh, yeah. That’s kinda the problem. We ain’t got none.”

“Are you telling me this gas station has no gas?”

“Nope. Truck’s late. Been waiting myself for an hour.” She pointed over at the stationary police car. The other woman was dozing, arms folded, on the bonnet.

“Wait - you don’t work here?” Angharad asked, wondering what in God’s name the woman had been doing to her car.

“Nope. On our way to a gig, my sister and me. We’re late” she grimaced resignedly.

Angharad took in the women’s matching costumes. Now it made sense! “Oh, are you musicians?”

“Yep. Valkyrie Blues.” She held out a still-slightly grimy hand, which Angharad shook. “That’s Furiosa. We’re on a mission from God.”

“Really?” Angharad asked, politely.

“Tryin’ to keep the Blessed Shroud open. That’s an orphanage. We grew up there, y’see.”

“Oh” Angharad breathed in sympathy. That’s a nice story - a shaggy dog tale, but nice nonetheless. Good sales technique.

“Rhythm and Blues Revue? Palace Hotel Ballroom? Up on Lake Wazapanami. Nice place.” The woman - Valkyrie - nodded encouragingly. Angharad smiled, replying that she didn’t know the area that well.

“So maybe you’d like to come by see the show - ?”

“Oh - I’m awfully sorry, but I do have a prior dinner engagement.”  
Not strictly true, but she HAD made plans. Which were slowly leaking away with every passing minute -

Angharad was on the point of asking what kind of music their band played - presumably nothing particularly current, judging from their outfits. Perhaps something at the grubbier end of the jazz spectrum? But just then -

Hiss - Screech

Oh, finally - the petrol’s here!

*

Both tanks full, Valkyrie wiped her hands on a rag and resumed her lean on the driver door. Angharad smiled, preparing to conclude their acquaintance.

“Okay, you're all set” she mumbled. “That'll be – uh - ninety four dollars.”

Angharad hadn’t QUITE got the currency conversion figured out yet, but that sounded rather expensive. She had almost certainly taken one look at the Jag and the designer dress and added a sizeable markup. But on the other hand, the encounter has been very entertaining. And entertainment is very much what Angharad is looking for.

So she leafed through her purse, selected a few notes. “Here's 95.”

“Thankyou. Okay” Valkyrie reached into her pocket and handed her a dollar bill.

“Oh, keep the change” she smiled, waving it away.

“Thanks” she replied, looking pleased. “So, look. If your date don't work out tonight for any reason - ”

Well, the gig does sound like it could be fun. After all, her casino plans are still fairly sketchy -

“ - there's a motel up on the interstate. Maybe we could, say, meet - around midnight?”

After a moment of blank confusion, Angarad’s eyebrows threatened to take independent flight. It took all she had not to succumb to a fit of giggles, or otherwise embarrass herself.

“I'll think about it, Valkyrie, okay?” she laughed and moved off.

*

She chuckled as she headed north, freshly fuelled and dimly aware the Jag was driving more smoothly than before.

Had she just been propositioned by that strange woman? Oh my God, how funny! Well, she had taken this trip to have new experiences, and if the last hour was anything to go by, tonight was going to be interesting.

*

Or not. Angharad’s ebullience was waning slightly as she jabbed the lemon wedge in her tonic water. It was almost nine and she was seriously considering getting an early night. It was a busy bar and the staff had little time to answer questions from tourists, even overdressed ones. But she was determined.

“Excuse me! Sir?” she waved at a middle-aged barman who’d incautiously ventured close. “Could possibly you give me directions to the nearest casino?”

“Aha! You’re not from round here, are ya?” His broad face broke into a smile and called out to a man sitting a few barstools along. “Hey Matty! This young lady’s lookin’ for a spot of roulette!”

Matty assumed a very serious face and looked thoughtful for a moment. “Well. If I was looking for a good casino, I’d get on the expressway and head west for, I dunno, about - two thousand miles - I hear Caesar’s Palace is real nice.”

“Oh, wonderful! Thank you so much. I’ve got my helicopter parked out front” she flashed her flashiest smile at him, and his jaw dropped.

“Really?” He looked astounded and delighted all at once, and she almost felt guilty disappointing him.

She shook her head regretfully. “Just pulling your leg, I’m afraid.”

The barman snickered and went to serve another customer, while Matty was elbowed in the ribs and called an asshole by a passing barmaid.

Angharad sighed. She was going to be called Miss Moneypenny again, it was almost inevitable. That’s what happens when you don’t do your research, she chid herself. But she thought America was full of casinos! Not in Illinois, it would seem.

Her crestfallen demeanour had not gone unobserved. The barmaid leaned in and said “I do some shifts Mount Pleasant Country Club, about eight miles north on 42. Nice place, you’d probably like it.”

She smiled and nodded confidently, before declaring loudly for the benefit of her colleagues “They got some manners there, at least!”

Angharad was all too familiar with the kind of manners they had there, if it was anything like back home. She groaned inwardly, defeated. Country club it is, then.

*

Angharad sat in her car and fumed, looking out over the city lights.

Ugh, that complete and utter WANKER. And SHE was the one to get thrown out? That entitled creep deserved to be wearing his Martini. Clearly Ivy League college boys were as bad as St Teddy’s lads. Ugh.

She folded her arms and let out a long breath. She should just go back to the hotel and admit defeat. Tonight had been an unmitigated disaster.

Well - not a complete disaster.

She smiled involuntarily, remembering the clumsy garage-attendant-slash- musician from earlier. She tried to picture her in her mind’s eye. It was difficult, in the low light. Shame about the sunglasses. She would’ve liked to have seen her eyes.

Strangely attractive, with her long dark braid hanging over her shoulder. Rather a distinctive fragrance. Valkyrie had had quite a stressful day, by the smell of it. It hadn’t been unpleasant though, even at close quarters. She remembered how she’d nervously licked her dry lips before suggesting the motel. How her hands were calloused and grubby.

She mused on these details for a while, her cheeks were burning ever so slightly. It wasn’t the Martini - she’d barely touched it.

She couldn’t help but be curious.  
She HAD kissed a girl before, of course. St Mag’s fifth and sixth years always had their traditional spin the bottle the last night before holidays. But then everyone was watching, and - well, it didn’t exactly count, did it?

She checked her watch. Eleven- twenty. Would this be the one thing that didn’t go wrong tonight?

*

Angharad tallied up how long she’d spent behind the wheel that night, and the total was sufficient to justify getting out of the car to stretch her legs. This was despite the fact that she was alone in the car park of a deserted motel at - she looked at her watch - five past twelve.

No Valkyrie. There’s a surprise. Well, she’d give her the benefit of the doubt til half past. She struck Angharad as someone who was fairly approximate in her timekeeping. Besides, she said ‘about midnight’. And the foolishness of her situation was lessened when there was no one else around to see it.

Headlights caught her eye. A car! Pulling up here! She frowned uncertainly. It’s not the black and white police car though. It’s someone else -

Angharad was seized with alarm as the matte black vehicle sailed past, close enough to see a man look at her curiously. Oh God, was he a kerb crawler? Or worse?

He didn’t stop. But he didn’t drive off either. No, he pulled up at the far side of the car park, and killed the engine. Like he was waiting, like her.

Oh come on! She wouldn’t have -  
Had Valkyrie double-booked? Made an assignation with two people on the same night? Angharad didn’t know whether to be angry or amused. It had been that kind of night, after all.

Wait. What if it wasn’t an accident? What if she had a threesome in mind? What if more cars arrived? A lot more? Angharad raised her eyebrows at the idea, then huffed a silent laugh at herself. Getting a little bit carried away, aren’t we?

But then her imagination took a sinister turn.

All the kidnapping tales her school-friends had told, all the horror stories in the papers - they took the opportunity to flood into her mind at once. She took a breath, in readiness to get back into the car.

But she froze in alarm as sirens cut through the air, getting closer. What on earth was happening? She watched in amazement as a black and white car tore past - seconds later followed by a whole FLEET of flashing police cars, sirens blaring.

Movement from the other parked car caught her eye. Even in her surprise, she’d kept the man’s car in her peripheral vision the whole time. Like she would a motionless spider in the corner, daring it to move.

The man had stepped out of his car and stood watching the convoy scream past. His shoulders slumped and he got back into the driver’s seat.

Angharad had had enough. Take the hint, girl - adventure is not what it’s cracked up to be. She flung herself into the Jag, turned the ignition - thank God it worked - and exited onto the highway.

She kept a constant eye on her rear view all the way back to the hotel. No one followed, at least no one she could see.

Up in her room, nerves soothed by a double G&T, she laughed at her panicked flight. The whole experience could be safely filed away under ‘adventure’, subsection ‘ludicrous’. In a few days she would be back in Manhattan, back at work, back to normal. At least, whatever passed as normal over here.

But she couldn’t quite shake the idea that the black and white car had kind of looked like Valkyrie’s.


End file.
